Volume 13

The Umbrella Incident: Rest In Peace

As the ‘whup-whup-whup’ of the Skycrane’s blades cut through the air, Jill, Pete and Roger were transported effortlessly to Southampton. The ride was nowhere near as perilous as Roger had suggested; the airsickness bags remained pristine and unused. Landing was as smooth as taking off and the entire trip could easily be categorized as ‘routine’, if not for the unorthodox landing location. It wasn’t that the airport was too busy for them, but rather, they wanted to get as close as practical to the GPS signal from Wesker’s car. The parking lot of the orchard in which they landed was only a quarter mile from the target location.

Jill checked her weapons again and, as Roger was thanking the flight crew, she tossed the keys to Pete and got in the left side of the car. Roger checked his own handgun as he walked to the Mercedes and climbed into the back seat. Pete started the car and flipped on the GPS Locator that was mounted on the dash. The screen lit up and, after some minor adjustments, began to ping like a SONAR screen, showing the Mercedes’ and Wesker’s GPS tracker. He turned the volume down to barely audible.

“We’re about 1250 feet from the GPS,” Pete said to his passengers. Then he pulled out and followed the signal. In about a minute he said, “It should be just around this curve. Be alert.” The warning wasn’t necessary, as both Jill and Roger had their weapons at the ready, Roger scanning the right side of the road and Jill scanning the left. As they rounded the curve, Pete slowed down and finally stopped. Nothing was there, yet the GPS signal was still causing the locator to ping. Pete pulled off to the left side of the road and removed the GPS Locator to use as a portable unit.

Within moments they located the GPS transceiver. It was wedged in the mouth of one Mr. Ozwell E. Spencer, who was sat up and leaning against the trunk of an old oak, facing away from the road. If it was uncomfortable, Mr. Spenser wasn’t complaining. He had a bullet hole in his forehead. Although it was obvious that Mr. Spencer was dead, Roger and Jill followed protocol and verified that there was no pulse and no breathing. Before moving the body, Jill and Pete checked it for booby traps and tripwires. None were found.

Roger called his men, who were a mile away. When they arrived, Pete asked, “When did the signal become stationary?”

The men consulted their notes and one answered, “At about 8:53 this morning, sir.”

“Thank you.” Then looking at Roger, Pete observed, “It’s 12:07 now. I’ll be right back.” And he walked to the trunk of the Mercedes and opened it. He reached in and pulled out his suitcase and then took out the medical bag from his ‘doctor’ persona. From the medical bag he removed what looked like a large meat thermometer and a pair of latex gloves. After putting on his gloves, Pete walked back and knelt down at the body and turned it over. He pulled up the man’s shirt and plunged the thermometer into his liver and walked away for a few minutes.

When he returned to the body, he checked the thermometer. “76.1 degrees Fahrenheit. Normal is about 98.6 to 98.4. The human body loses 1.5 degrees Fahrenheit per hour after death, on average, so Mr. Spencer died between 21:00 and 22:00 last evening. That’s just a best guess. A medical examiner would have to make the exact call, but that is good enough for us. Wesker killed Spencer last night and dumped his body here this morning. The only thing that puzzles me is why Wesker used his own identity.”

“Possibly he wanted to get the credit for the kill,” Roger suggested.

“I guess that’s as good as any reason,” Jill added.

“Or, he wants someone to fear him. Who would that be?” Pete asked.

Jill picked it up next. “Here in England? The only one I can think of is Spencer’s stepson, Darian.” Jill walked away as she pulled out her phone and dialed Marc’s number. “Marc, this is Jill. Has your drunken friend left his hotel yet?”

Jill returned to the group. “Darian Spencer has just inherited a security detail.”

After wrapping the thermometer in his latex gloves, Pete returned it to his medical bag and put the bag back in his suitcase in the trunk. Then he spoke. “Well, Wesker doesn’t know that Darian Spencer is in Paris, so he might be heading to Darian’s house. Where is that, Roger?”

“It’s about 60 miles from here, Pete, in Guildford.”

“Is the Skycrane still available?”

Roger nodded to one of his two men, who then placed a call on his mobile. “Sir, the Skycrane is still at the landing location.”

On his way to the Mercedes, Roger said, “Tell them we’re on our way and then call the locals and let them know what we found here.”

“Yes sir.”

Jill, Roger and Pete were soon back at the parking lot and waiting for the car to be picked up by the Skycrane. This time they remained inside the car for the ride. The crew secured the car and explained that when the quick-release was activated, they would have to retrieve the harness. The Sikorsky was due back in London and they had to go.

The flight was a bit more interesting when the team was flying below the helicopter rather than in it, but there was still no need for the airsick bags. Less than 20 minutes later, the Sikorsky lowered the Mercedes, and when it was on the ground, the quick-release was activated. The harness straps fell to the ground and the Skycrane exited. Roger and Jill got out of the car and Pete drove it forward, over the harness, and then he released the trunk latch. Jill put the harness in the trunk as Roger returned to the car and fed it Damian Spencer’s address. When Jill got back into the car, Pete took off, following the GPS. They slowly approached the manor and parked a block away.

Jill and Roger quickly ran a surveillance check of the area. Wesker could have been there more than two hours ago, so it was time to be cautious. Finding no sign of Wesker’s rental car didn’t surprise them; anyone worth their salt would have hidden their car. It was just after 1:00 PM, so Spencer’s children would still be in school. That was a plus. It was Roger who thought of it. “Why don’t we just walk up to the door as though we owned the place?”

“Because they might shoot us?” Jill responded.

“Sure, there’s that, but we are not in the United States, and people here are used to visitors dropping by.” And with that, he was off and up the walk to the front door. Jill shrugged and followed him. When they reached the door, Roger rang the bell and waited. A moment later, an American voice came over the intercom speaker.

“We are not expecting any callers today. Please go away.”

As bold as could be, Roger replied, “I most certainly will not go away! Mr. Spencer personally asked me to come around today and pick up his donation for the Children’s Hospital Fund. Please tell Mr. Spencer that I am here.” Looking at Jill, he said, loud enough to be picked up by the intercom, “The nerve of him! Miss Hart, we shall have our donation today.”

The voice on the intercom came back. “Sir, Mr. Spencer is not here at the moment.”

“Then I shall come in and wait! This is the only outstanding account that is on my book and I must settle it today. Now please let me in so I can wait for Mr. Spencer.”

After a brief pause, the American voice on the intercom said, “Very well,” and a buzzing sound indicated that the door was unlocked. Roger opened the door and they stepped inside. Jill recognized Wesker as soon as he walked in the room. Without hesitation, she fired the tranq gun and a dart struck him in the neck. A second later, he fell at their feet.

Roger stayed with Wesker as Jill quickly searched the house. It appeared to be empty. Had Wesker taken over an empty house? Jill rechecked the master bedroom and found Mrs. Spencer’s planner. It showed that she was scheduled to be in London today from 10:00 AM until 2:00 PM, visiting with friends, but where were the servants? She rechecked the house and then went to the servants’ quarters. There she found two people, one male and the other female, trussed up and gagged. She released the female and told her that they should call the police in five minutes. Then she left and returned to the main house to help Roger with Wesker. Roger had already called Pete and they were loading Wesker into the Mercedes when she arrived. The four of them drove off before the maid could free the butler. For some reason, they actually waited the full five minutes before calling the police.

= = =

Jerry, Ed, Tim and I arrived at our house about 3:20. Tim pointed down the hall and said, “The john is this way, on your left.” Then he and I took off our backpacks and set them down in our room. While Tim played ‘good host’, I looked up Frau Berghoff’s number and quickly called her.

“Guten Tag, Herr Morales. To what do I owe this pleasure?” As usual, I was surprised when I was addressed by name before I even spoke, but I suppose my Caller ID gave me away. It took a second or two before I could respond.

“Guten Tag, Frau Berghoff… Umm… Frau Berghoff, when we were in Germany and found out that Raccoon City was destroyed, and all of our families with it, you and Herr Berghoff worked very hard to get us back to the States and to relatives and friends. There were twenty of us on the trip, plus you and your husband. We’ve been able to get in contact with only seventeen of our classmates. We haven’t been able to contact Carl Schroeder, Thomas Maier, and Norma Sweitzer. Do you know where they are?”

“Oh Miguel, I’m sorry. In the rush to get everyone back, Herr Berghoff and I apparently neglected to let the rest of you know about these three. Carl, Thomas and Norma are German citizens. Their parents were brought to the United States to work on a special project at Umbrella Corporation. When they and their other children were killed in Raccoon City, Herr Berghoff and I, with the assistance of your uncle, verified that Carl, Thomas and Norma’s next of kin were in Germany and we waited until relatives came for them. In fact, each of the children was to spend an extra day or two with their relatives before returning to America… before the disaster struck, of course. Once it did, German law took over and the children were returned to their next of kin there.”

“That’s good to know, but none of them have responded to our emails.”

“Miguel, I have the addresses and phone numbers of the families in Germany. I will call them and send you an email when they respond. I will forward yours and Timothy’s email and mailing address to them as well. I will also get their email addresses for you. Germany is seven hours later than here, so I will phone them at noon tomorrow. You should have a reply from me, and hopefully from them, by the time you get home from school tomorrow.”

“That would be great, Frau Berghoff! Thank you so much!”

“You are welcome, Miguel. Let Timothy and the others know as well, would you?”

“Of course, Frau Berghoff. Thanks again. Auf wieder hören.”

“Auf wieder hören, Miguel.”

Now I felt a lot better. Tim and the guys were in the kitchen, so I walked in and gave ’em the good news. We celebrated with Cokes and potato chips. Then Tim and Jerry kicked us out of the kitchen so they could get supper started. Ed and I went into the living room. I wasn’t sure how to start this and neither was Ed, but he tried.

“So how does the gay lifestyle work?”

“Haha. Ed, you really have a lot to learn. Look, before you realized that you had feelings for other guys, what was your ‘lifestyle’ like?”

“My what?”

“Your lifestyle. You know; your straight lifestyle.”

“I don’t think I had a lifestyle.” He looked more confused than ever.

“Well, what did you do before you realized that you liked guys instead of girls?”

“Just the regular stuff, you know, I played baseball, went bike riding with my friends, hung around at the mall, you know… that kind of stuff.”

“Ed, I hate to burst your bubble, but that sounds a lot like what Tim and I do, too. For instance, last Friday, Jerry, Tim and I went to the movies.”

“I thought Jerry said he was straight.”

“Umm… he is, Ed. Jerry sees us as his friends and that’s how we see Jerry and you. There really is no ‘gay lifestyle’. Everybody is the same… except in the bedroom. And you know what? Bedrooms have doors. Bedroom doors get closed, both by straight people and by gay people. For instance, how often does your dad talk about what he and your mom do in the privacy of their bedroom?”

“Mike! That’s gross! They never talk about it. I guess they just do it.”

“Well, why don’t they talk about it?”

“It’s private! They don’t want anyone to know, I guess.”

“Would you say that their ‘straight lifestyle’ is wrong because they don’t talk about it? It seems to me that someone has a guilty conscience if they can’t talk about it in the open.”

“Haha! Mike, I don’t even want to know what my parents do in bed.”

“That’s my point, Ed. I don’t want to know what your parents do in bed either. Not just because the thought of old people doing it grosses me out, but also because it’s normal and natural for them to do it, just as normal and natural as guys to be in love with guys… and girls to be in love with girls.”

“Well, Tim is bisexual. What’s with that? Why can’t he make up his mind?”

“I think I’d have to let Tim answer that for himself, but what is wrong with that? Many in the straight community think that gays and lesbians are ‘faking’ it and really are straight people who just ‘choose’ to be gay or lesbian.”

“That’s what my dad thinks.”

“Ed, some day, when you have the courage, ask your dad if he could choose to have sex with a guy. That should make an interesting conversation.”

“Geeze! He’d kill me!”

“Yeah, that’s the response that I expected. Look, Ed, I’m not out, and I don’t think I will be in high school, but in a couple of years when I start college, I think I’ll be a bit more open about my sexuality. Heck, Tim and Uncle Pete already know about me, so it’s just the rest of the world that would have to find out, but while in high school, with all the haters and doubters and the religious nuts, I don’t think I’d like to come out.”

“Mike, I had trouble telling you that I’m gay. You saved me the trouble by telling Tim, and once I told you, and I knew that Jerry was at the GSA meeting yesterday, it was a little easier telling him, but I don’t think I could go to a GSA meeting myself. What if someone from my church saw me going in or coming out? I’d be screwed!”

“Yeah, that would kinda suck. But at least now you know some of the other people in school who are going through the same thing. Ed, there are 3,000 kids in Lombard High School. That means that around 300 of the students are gay. Then there are the Bi and Trans kids, too. The GSA meeting yesterday had sixteen people attending. They didn’t ask for our sexuality, but I’d bet that most of the kids were not straight. But even if all sixteen of the kids were gay or lesbian, that still leaves 284 other gays in school. Those 300 students come out to about 75 in each grade. I’m sure that you’re not alone in being worried about being found out. I guess for now we should just be happy to have others who we can talk about it with.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

Just then, Jerry and Tim came in the room and suggested that we go online while we’re waiting for supper to be ready. When we powered up our laptops, I had an urgent message from Matt Spencer in England.

“Hey, Tim, Matt Spencer’s dad checked in. He was called to Paris and was told not to let anyone know he was going there.”

“Wow! That’s great, Mike! That must be a load off his mind.”

“Yeah – I hope I never have a job that requires me to have secret meetings that I can’t even tell my family about. That would kinda suck.”

“No kidding,” echoed Jerry. “It’s bad enough that my mom goes out of town on short notice to meet with customers. I hate cooking for myself. Hehe.”

“Geeze, Jerry, you’ve been doing great in the kitchen tonight.”

“Tim, I didn’t say I didn’t know how to cook, I just don’t like to cook. Hehe.”

“Hahaha. I think the only thing that I know how to cook is hot dogs in the microwave.”

“Hehe. Funny, Ed. You must know how to do more than that… after all, you’re gay.”

It took Ed a couple of seconds to laugh at my comment. “I’m sorry, Ed, it was just a joke. You’re among friends.”

“I guess I’m gonna have to get used to remarks like that, Mike. It might take a while.”

Jerry and Tim had been running back and forth to the kitchen to check on supper, finally they called us out to set the table. I got the stuff out of the cabinets and Ed helped me to get it set. Finally we were ready to eat.

“What smells so good, Tim?” Ed asked.

“Beef stew. Jerry suggested it.” Then he set the pot in the table with a ladle in it and said, “Dig in! But be careful, it’s hot!”

= = =

It was fun having Ed and Jerry over for dinner, but they left about 7:30. Jerry and Ed live near each other, so they walked home together. Tomorrow I’ll have to ask Ed what they talked about. But for us, we had to get our homework started. So once the dishwasher was loaded and running, we hit the books. Being in the same classes really helps, too. Hopefully next semester we’ll have all of our classes together.

When our homework was finished, Tim and I got undressed and went into the bathroom to take our shower. So much has happened lately that it seemed like months since we played in the shower, rather than only a couple of days. Like always, we started with shampooing each other’s hair. I love to close my eyes and just feel Tim’s hands and fingers sliding through my hair and over my head. I love the way Tim’s hair and scalp feel, too.

I’ve always kinda wondered where Tim and I stack up, you know, size-wise, compared to other guys. I’ve only seen Tim and myself hard, but going by soft, we seem to be pretty average. Sure, we’re bigger than some of the guys, but other guys are way bigger than us. Tim and I have measured each other, but all we’ll ever say about that is Tim is a little longer and I’m a little thicker. Standing next to each other and looking in the mirror, we really can’t tell the difference between us, it’s that subtle.

As for where we stack up, most of the guys we see online are longer and thicker than us. I think that’s the main reason that I don’t want to have anal sex. I personally don’t think that having sex should be a literal pain in the ass. Hehe. But I digress… I guess I shouldn’t close my eyes for too long; I have a great imagination.

OK. Back to the real world. Once our hair is washed and rinsed, washing each other always begins with me soaping up my washcloth and washing Tim first. I love to make him go crazy, but not quite enough to make him cum. With Tim, that’s a fine line! I start by washing his face and ears. I love Tim’s ears. They’re not too large or too small; his earlobes are large enough for a couple of earrings, but neither of us has any piercings… yet.

Next I move to Tim’s neck and gently soap his prominent Adam’s apple. His is larger than mine, which is possibly why his voice is lower. I’ll have to ask Mr. Lisowski about it in Biology someday. Next I pull him close to me and hug him so I can wash the back of his neck and his back. This is when we start to bone up, if we haven’t already. Tim and I seem to automatically start to rub our members against each other. When I get down to Tim’s butt, I back away and take each of his arms in turn and wash it, starting at the shoulder and moving down to the elbow and then the wrist, finally taking his hand and gently soaping and washing it and his fingers. I always start with Tim’s left arm, probably because I’m right handed, and facing him, so his left arm is closer. Then I move to his right arm and go through the same routine of gentle washing.

Neither Tim nor I are especially ticklish, so when I gently start to wash his armpit, he shows no reaction other than pleasure. I gently wash his chest from his right armpit to his left one. Tim isn’t especially muscular (nor am I, for that matter), but he’s fit from just normal daily activities, like walking to and from school each day and bicycling. I love the feel of his chest; I love to feel him breathe as I soap him. On his left side, I can often feel his heart beating, usually at a steady rate. When I get to his left armpit, I soap it as gently as his right one and then I begin to lower myself to a kneeling position.

While kneeling, I run the washcloth over Tim’s stomach. Like me, Tim has the start of a six-pack, but it’s hardly pronounced like a true athlete’s. I usually kiss his stomach as I wash it and clean his navel with the washcloth.

By now, Tim’s member is straining and standing almost straight up. I give it one or two quick passes with the washcloth and then wash over, under and around it, paying special attention to his scrotum. His once low-hanging testicles are now rising closer to his penis as I stimulate them. As I wash his sac, I also rub the cloth between his legs and I can feel the base of his hardon as I soap it.

Moving to his legs, I gently soap his thighs and his knees, and then move to his shins, and finally, I wash the top of his feet before I ask him to turn around so I can wash his butt and the back of his legs. As with his stomach, I plant a kiss on each of his butt cheeks as I wash them and gently clean his crack with the washcloth.

Moving south again, I soap the back of his legs and knees as Tim leans on the wall for support. When I get to his ankles, I gently lift each foot in turn and clean the bottom of it and wash between his toes. As I stand, I turn Tim around and make one more swipe over his member before he rinses off.

While Tim rinses the soap from his body, I take the spot that Tim had only a moment before. When he turns around, our penises meet like crossed swords. Tim leans in and kisses me before repeating the scene that just played out, but this time with me as the subject. When I’ve been washed, I too rinse off and then Tim, who has remained on his knees, waits for me to turn around.

When I do, he swallows me into his mouth and I can feel the head of my penis enter his throat. He doesn’t gag; he’s learned to accept me, as I have learned to accept him. Instead, he slowly slides up and down my member, bringing me closer and closer to orgasm, until he plunges down on me and I release my sperm into his mouth and throat. My penis can feel him swallowing and it drives me insane with pleasure. When I have stopped cumming, Tim continues to bob up and down on my member until I have no choice but to fall to my knees in excruciating pleasure. I think it takes longer to read this than it took me to cum.

Tim wraps his arms around me and, as we kiss, I can taste my cum in his mouth. I have my arms around him as well, and when I feel that I’ve revived, I slide my hands down Tim’s back, and when I have the globes of his butt in them, I lift him to a standing position. I look up and lock onto his eyes as I slide his rigid member into my mouth. Keeping our eyes locked, I begin to slowly bob up and down on him. As we progress, I can feel Tim’s penis head growing larger. I know that he is almost ready. I continue to bob and as I think his member will explode if it gets any larger, Tim throws his head back and releases an animalistic moan of pleasure as he shoots his load down my throat. Tim’s member, too, has become too sensitive to touch and he, as did I, falls to his knees to end the pleasurable pain.

When we kiss, Tim’s semen mixes with mine and the resultant ‘soup’ pleases us both. As the shower water begins to cool, we stand and rinse once more and then exit the shower to dry each other. We finish by brushing our teeth and going to bed. We fell asleep in each other’s arms. Unfortunately, we forgot to close the door…

= = =

An ambulance is waiting in the dark on the tarmac near the Jetway at Gate 12 of International Terminal 5 at O’Hare International Airport. Its emergency lights are strobing and the driver is waiting patiently for the flight from London. With the driver is a Customs Agent to clear the patient and his medical assistance team for entry into the United States. The driver speaks.

“Hey, Bob. How’s it been?”

“Pretty good, Gil. And you?”

“Hehe… other than these early pickups, I can’t really complain. Who’s the patient this time?”

U.S. Customs Agent Bob Marley checks his paperwork. “It’s a guy named Lawrence Jones from the UK. Where are you taking him?”

EMT and Ambulance Driver Gil Warren looks at his order and says, “The paperwork says UIC* Medical Center. I read that the UIC has been working on new techniques for reviving coma patients. I wonder if this guy is one of the test cases.”

They continue their small talk for a few more minutes until a Gulfstream G550 rolls to a halt near Gate 12. Within minutes, the patient is removed from the plane on a stretcher and transferred to the ambulance’s gurney. Less than fifteen minutes later, the ambulance is on its way. As it left the tarmac and drove around the terminal loop towards the Kennedy Expressway, Gil turned off the emergency lights and siren.

“Welcome back, Boss. Any problems?”

“Well, it would have been better if Ozwell Spencer was our patient instead of Albert Wesker, but all things considered, this was a success.”

Gil took the same route to the ‘office’ that he used before, and within thirty-five minutes they were pulling into the gated parking lot between the Polish American Museum and the messenger service. Jill and Pete rolled the gurney to the door as Gil parked the ambulance. Again invoking the security protocol override, the four rode the elevator to the ‘office’ and put Wesker in the decontamination suite. When he was secure, Gil switched the license plates, removed the bus-wrap from the ambulance and returned it to it to its owner.

Pete addressed the man in the biohazard suit. “Rolf, I don’t think Wesker will be as easy a nut to crack as Damian Spencer was.”

“Nor do I. It might take a week to get what we want from him.”

“I’m going home and Jill has classes today. I hope she got enough sleep on the plane. Jet lag can really suck.”

“Don’t worry about me, sweet cheeks. I’ll do fine,” she said. Then she kissed Pete on the cheek and the two of them took the elevator back to the parking lot and went home.

= = =

When the alarm went off at 7:00 AM, Tim turned it off and rolled over onto Mike, gave him a quick kiss and said, “Wake up, sleepy head!”

“That’s ‘TIM’!” Then he squeezed Mike’s nuts to remind him of their vow.

“Oops! I was just kidding! Stop! Stop!”

“Just remember; next time they’re gone!”

“Yes sir. Can I get up now, or do you want me to pee on both of us? Hehe.”

Tim jumped up and screamed, “YIKES!”

“What the heck are you two doing to each other?!? NO, don’t tell me!!! I don’t think I want to know!”

“Hmm… I guess Uncle Pete is home.”

“No shit, Sherlock. What was your first clue? Hehe.”

“Umm, Mike, did you get up and close the door last night?”

“No. Didn’t you?”

“Oh shit! I hope we were covered when Uncle Pete came in.”

“Let’s not mention it and pretend he didn’t see anything.”

“I agree.”

We got out of bed and put on our boxer briefs and went to the bathroom to get ready for the day. Ten minutes later we were in the kitchen and Uncle Pete had a shit-eating grin on his face.

“You closed our door, didn’t you?

“Yeah, Tim, but I covered you guys up first. You must have been cold; it looked like maximum shrinkage. Hahaha.”

“GAH!!! STOP IT!!!”

Uncle Pete laughed again and went back to reading his newspaper and drinking his coffee. Needless to say, Tim and I were red-faced ’til we left for school. But on the walk there, we couldn’t help but laugh about it. Sure, it was embarrassing, but it was funny, too. When we told Jerry and Ed about it at lunch, they couldn’t stop laughing. Ed even shot milk from his nose. Hehe.

at the end of the day, Ed asked us if we would tell him about what went on the GSA meeting today. We told him that we’d tell him what happened, but not who was there or if they were gay or straight. That would require him to attend the meeting. We knew he would never attend, but we hoped he could appreciate our positions as well. He agreed.

When we got home that afternoon, we had email from Frau Berghoff. She said the three missing students were well and she even included their German email addresses. As for why they didn’t respond, the three of them felt that their life in the States had ended and they just wanted to move on. They stopped checking their U.S. email, deleted their Facebook account, and cleared their Skype profiles and stopped using them. Tim and I are going to send them emails before we let the others know what their addresses are, just to be sure they’re OK with that.

I also had an email from Matt Spencer. His grandfather was killed in an automobile accident yesterday. Man, that really sucked. He wasn’t on Skype, so we each sent him an email expressing our feelings.

= = =

Albert Wesker screamed out in pain. Most people cry out at the tenth level; Wesker held out until the sixteenth. He still had given no information…